


Weak As I Am

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Illusions, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: The reader has been rescued from Michael’s clutches but is she really saved?





	Weak As I Am

The door opened, flooding light into the cell for a brief second before a huge shadow filled the doorway. You squinted, weakly raising one arm to shield your eyes as a voice you’d been convinced you’d never hear again ushered you into a dangerous hope.

It was only your name he whispered but it made you collapse in relief. Seconds later, big hands were pulling the bindings from your wrists and ankles, scraping unintentionally over the cuts and bruises littering your barely-clothed body.

He was muttering words of comfort, but you couldn’t acknowledge them through your bone-wracking sobs.

You didn’t even know how long it had been.

Sam scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest and you let hope take you, enough for you to lose all consciousness.

*****

There was an ache in your bones that woke you and you felt softness surround you. Opening your eyes seemed too much effort; you lay on whatever cloud you’d found, hoping this was peace coming for you. Maybe it was all over, maybe you could rest.

Or he was still there, deceiving you like he did so well.

His face was in your head and you whimpered, feeling a hand cover yours like a far away whisper.

Darkness was better than this.

*****

“No, she hasn’t woken up yet.”

Something was ringing in the back of your mind and you winced, trying to avoid the sound.

“Cas healed her.”

Healed? You could only feel pain. How could you be healed?

“I’ll call and let you know.” A pause and the familiar voice got a little bit clearer, like your ears popping when you go down a steep hill.

Sam.

“She’s waking up.”

A new voice. The memories connected and you recognized it. Jack.

You were home.

“Y/N?”

Forcing your eyes open seemed to be the most exhausting thing in the world and you barely managed it, blinking at Sam through dry eyes and sticky lashes. When you parted your lips, they stuck together and your voice was all but a whisper in a tornado.

“Hey, hey, don’t try and talk yet,” Sam urged, reaching somewhere out of your sight to produce a glass of water a second later, “here.”

He pressed the cool glass to your lips and you let the liquid pass your parched lips and over your tongue. The taste in your mouth reminded you of a joke you’d heard once;  _ anyone seen the cat that shit in my mouth? _

Dean.

Dean had said that.

You choked and spluttered on the water and Sam pulled the glass away. “Dean,” you croaked and Sam frowned, glancing over to your other side where Jack sat in one of the old chairs he’d dragged from the library.

“Dean’s fine,” Jack said, not waiting for Sam to reply, “Michael is gone.”

Michael. His name.

“No,” you whimpered, panic making you jerk suddenly. Sam was over you in an instant, holding you down.

“Calm down, Y/N -”

“No, he’s -” Pain made you arch your back and you slumped, exhausted and barely clinging to consciousness. “He’s not -”

Darkness stole your words and nothing came after.

*****

Her smile haunted you. Or was it his? You couldn’t get it straight in your head. Michael, in the body of that beautiful and powerful woman, touching you. Torturing you. For weeks on end, you’d been his captive, moved around like cattle for his amusement.

You’d all but given up hope that Dean and Sam would come for you. You didn’t  _ want _ them to come for you. It was all a trap, a ploy to get Dean here, to give the archangel what he wanted: The Spear and his vessel. 

And in the meantime, you’d been his plaything.

Michael’s ability for torture was extensive. Mental, physical - it didn’t matter as long as you hurt. When he’d grown tired of cutting into you, breaking your bones and healing you just to start over, he’d turned to invading your mind. His distaste for humans ran toward the sexual side, so he used the people you loved to hurt you, twisting memories and happy moments into agony and pain.

Your mind no longer knew the distinction between real and false reality. Somewhere buried, you knew you were safe back at the bunker. But the horror Michael had forced on you was more than Castiel could heal and keeping you unconscious was easier.

Even that didn’t provide you with relief.

Dean watched from his chair at your bedside, helpless as you twitched and moaned, thrashing against invisible nightmares. He’d been watching over you for hours, ever since he’d woken from his own nightmare.

Michael was still fighting him, thundering inside his head. There wasn’t any way he’d sleep with the pain of it and with nothing else to do, he chose to guard you. Sam and Jack had long since retired to bed and Castiel was somewhere unknown, searching for a way to kill the archangel trapped in his brain.

His brother’s name fell from your lips and guilt hit Dean like a two-ton semi.

This was all his fault.

He’d said yes, and now the fallout was hurting everyone he loved.

A knock at the door made him look up, Sam’s hopeful face making his stomach sink. “Hey,” the younger man greeted, slipping into the room. Hope faded from his expression as he saw you, the same as you’d been the night before. “Did you get any sleep?” Sam asked, focusing his immediate concern on Dean.

“No,” Dean grunted. “Wanted to be here in case -”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, sitting on the edge of your bed, taking your hand. Dean watched him, sighing heavily as Sam’s eyes fixed on your face. Your eyes moved rapidly behind their lids, your breathing uneven with whatever you were witnessing. “No change.”

“None.”

Sam’s mouth set into a thin line; he reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Cas said it’s too risky to try and get into her head. It could make it worse.”

“Sammy -” Dean murmured, closing his eyes, unsure what he was even going to say. When he opened his eyes again, Sam was looking at him, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry.” He gestured to you, his emotions getting out of hand. “This is my fault.”

“Dean, no -”

“I said yes,” Dean ground out, “I let him in. He had her for weeks, Sam,  _ weeks _ . And it’s my fault.”

Sam shook his head furiously, tears brimming in his eyes. “You did what you thought was right. We’ve both done it, Dean. You can’t shoulder all this with -”

“With Michael trapped in my head, yeah,” Dean got to his feet, “I got it.”

“Dean!”

The elder Winchester paused in the door, looking back at his brother. Sam took a breath, standing from the bed and turning to him.

“You didn’t do this. This is on Michael. No one else.”

“Sam…”

The whisper of his name from the bed made both brothers fix their attention on you. Sam rushed toward the bed, sitting back down and grabbing your hand. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.” Dean watched, struggling to hold back his grief and guilt.

Your lips were dry and cracked and it hurt to open your eyes. Gravity seemed too much to fight against; your hand hung limply in Sam’s, the feel of his lips on your knuckles barely registering. 

“Stay with me,” Sam pleaded, reaching to cup your cheek in a vain attempt to keep your eyes open. It failed and you passed out again, leaving Sam bereft, clutching your fingers as he kept begging.

When he turned around, Dean was gone.

*****

Sam’s hand was on your cheek, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “I’m right here, baby,” he whispered, kissing you softly. “Gonna make it all better, I promise.”

The steel in his hand bit into your stomach with a sickening squelch and you screamed, begging for him to stop. Screeches of his name fell on deaf ears and the soulless smile on his face as he cut into you was void of any human emotion. You couldn’t fight, strung up like a lamb to the slaughter, not able to do anything but sob and scream.

_ Not Sam. Not Sam. Not Sam. _

This wasn’t real.

“Oh, it’s so real, baby girl,” Sam grinned, wiping the knife on your rag of a shirt before pressing it against your cheek that he’d caressed so softly only moments ago. You hung uselessly in the chains, blood dripping from your carved up belly onto your bare thighs. “Can’t you feel how  _ real _ I am?”

“No, no, no, no,” you pleaded, thrashing in the chains as he unbuckled his belt, keeping his cold eyes on you.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he leered, pushing his pants down and pressing against you, forcing your legs up. The wall at your back scraped against your skin, making you cry harder - your torn up shirt left you with no protection against the chilly stone.

Sam fisted his cock, pressing the tip into your slit, blood easing his way. He groaned as he pushed into you, leaving no room for your comfort as he started to fuck you brutally against the wall.

“That’s it, my little slut,” he crooned, pushing your chin up between his thumb and forefinger. The kiss he gave you was all teeth and tongue, your dry lips bleeding easily from the contact. “Scream for me.”

Michael watched from the doorway, a smile on his stolen face. 

Sam’s grunts grew strained and your head rolled backward, eyes closing as he used you. You hated that it felt good, that your body responded to him and when he came, you choked a cry, tasting blood on your tongue.

He was still thrusting into you when he slipped the knife between your ribs and into your heart.

“Ssh, baby, I’m here, you’re safe,” he whispered, kissing your cheek.

The blood clogged your throat.

Michael’s smile grew.

“I’m here, you’re safe,” Sam repeated.

A sensation like freezing water rushed over you, the dingy basement contorting as you floated to the surface of the hallucination, feeling warm hands against your face. Sam’s concerned eyes looked down at you, the mixture of colors familiar and filled with emotion.

“Sam…” You couldn’t taste the blood anymore and tears streamed down your cheeks as you felt his weight leaning over you. “No… no, Sam, don’t -” Chains no longer bound your hands and you struck out at him, wailing when his hands easily caught your fists.

“It’s okay,” he pleaded, pinning you down; you continued to fight, resorting to snapping at him with your teeth. “Y/N, it’s okay, calm down!”

Surging forward, you slammed your forehead into his, forcing him to back off, clutching his face. The blow made you dizzy and you fell back onto the pillows, groaning in renewed pain. Sam regained his footing, stumbling back to you as the door burst open.

Dean was inside the room before Jack, rushing around to the other side of the bed as you started fight again. He grabbed your arm as Sam grabbed the other, both of them trying to hold you down. “Jack! Get Cas!” Dean roared and the boy disappeared from sight. “Shit, Y/N, calm down!”

All you could do was repeat the word  _ no _ over and over, fighting against the monsters Michael had created in your head. You were weakening with each attempt to escape and by the time Jack returned with Castiel, your struggles had almost stopped.

“Knock her out,” Dean ordered and Castiel squeezed between him and the bed, pressing two fingers to your forehead. Your body went slack and you passed out, a glimpse of what you’d been perceiving revealing itself to the angel.

He stumbled backward, clutching his stomach, shaking his head as he tried to get rid of the pain and agony he’d felt from you.

“Cas?” Dean asked, concern at his friend’s distress. “What did you see?”

Sam didn’t move from your side and he didn’t look away from your face. Castiel swallowed, panting uselessly. “I saw Sam. And Michael. He was making her see things that weren’t real.” He paused, straightening his tie. “Things that could never be real.”

Tears rolled from your closed eyes and Sam’s shoulders slumped, his huge hands cradling yours. He didn’t speak, leaning down to press his forehead against your fingertips.

“Can we help her?” Jack asked quietly and Cas sighed, shrugging uselessly.

“I don’t know.”

*****

“It’s been three days, Sam.”

Dean’s voice didn’t even make him flinch where he sat at your bedside. His hair was greasy, his stomach churned with hunger and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk anything that wasn’t coffee. Sam could feel the beard growing back and was just waiting for Dean to say something.

“You know, the mountain man look wasn’t great,” Dean drawled, prompting a small twitch at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “And you’re smelling pretty damn ripe.”

His declaration was met with silence and Dean sighed, moving over to the foot of the bed, looking down at you. You looked so small, so unlike the woman who could - and had - easily kicked his ass. Whatever Michael had done, he’d broken you.

Dean hated himself for it.

“Jack can sit with her for a while,” he urged. “Sam, you haven’t even eaten -”

“Neither has she,” Sam muttered. “I’ve tried everything and she won’t…” He dropped his head into his hands, choking back a cry. Wiping his face angrily, he sat straight. “We can’t leave her like this. Whatever he made her see, she can’t stop living it.”

Dean nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, quietly, looking back at you.

With a sigh, Dean shook his head. “The first thing you can do is eat. You know when she wakes up, she’ll only yell at you for not taking care of yourself.” He paused, chuckling. “Then she’ll kick my ass for not looking after you.”

Slowly, Sam’s shoulders dropped and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay.”

*****

It took days for you to finally start having more lucid periods. After the first few failed attempts, the boys figured out that you were far calmer with Jack and Castiel, and though it broke Sam’s heart, he kept his distance.

Focusing on Dean’s issues was easier for the time being and Sam threw himself into researching, even as Dean himself grew more distant. Sam tried to reassure him, to tell him that none of this was his fault, but the elder Winchester wasn’t accepting of any of his brother’s comfort.

He wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice echoed down the hallway. “I’m heading to bed. Get some sleep, man.”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured back, not even bothering to lift his head.

The lights went off and Sam sighed, closing the book he’d been skimming. Getting to his feet, he trudged down the hallway, yawning as he slipped into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. For a second, he leaned against the smooth wood, closing his eyes and trying to feel anything remotely close to hope.

“Sam.”

He jumped at the sound of his name, spinning to face the bed, illuminated by the lamp on the nightstand. You were sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him with tired eyes. Sam moved forward, dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Baby, you should be in bed,” he chided, hesitant to touch you.

Your bottom lip wobbled and you shook your head. “I want to be with you,” you whispered. “You stopped coming to see me -”

Sam shook his head, placing his hands on the bed either side of you. “We thought it was best,” he explained, giving you an earnest look. “You were getting upset and you needed time to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.”

“You’re real,” you said, reaching out with one hand to touch his cheek. There was no flinch in your movements and Sam relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed feeling your skin against his. “I know you’re real.” Lifting your other hand, you cradled his face, slipping to the floor between his knees. “I need you.”

Leaning forward, you kissed him softly, gasping his name against his lips and Sam pulled back, frowning at you. “Y/N, this isn’t -”

“Please,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “I know it’s you. I promise.”

He relented a little, letting you kiss him softly. When your legs began to shake with the effort of kneeling on the hard floor, Sam scooped you up and onto the bed, laying you down before occupying the space next to you.

“You’re exhausted,” he murmured, cupping your cheek. “You should rest.”

“I don’t want to,” you pouted, rolling to press your body against the length of his. Sam groaned when your hand slipped down to the front of his pants, cupping him through the material. Despite his better judgement, his cock began to stir at the stimulation. “Sam...”

You leaned up, kissing him again, encouraging him to full hardness under your palm. Sam groaned, kissing back, knowing this was wrong but his body was reacting against his weakening will. When your fingers moved, sliding under the waistband of his jeans, he pulled back, halting your wrist.

Your fingertips brushed his cock and he moaned, swallowing hard. “Y/N -”

“Please,” you begged again, “I need you back.”

Confusion filled his eyes and he sought yours, seeing the grief held in them. “I never went anywhere,” he whispered, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You shuddered at the movement, pushing away the horrific fallacies that Michael had made you endure. “I’ll never go anywhere,” Sam promised, initiating the kiss this time.

His resolve crumbled; he released your wrist, letting you have what you wanted. Snaking your fingers around his cock, you pumped him slowly, as much as you could within the confines of his pants. Sam grunted, shifting, using two fingers to pop the button of his jeans open, giving you more room.

The zipper lowered under the pressure of his erection, allowing you to pull him free. Pressing your lips to his, you sought out a greedy kiss as you worked at his length, using your thumb to smear the bead of precum leaking from the tip.

Sam’s body arched at your touch but you wanted more. Sitting up, you released your hold on him and tugged at his pants, pulling them down until he was able to kick them off. His fingers snagged your top, tugging at it and you stripped it off, baring your breasts to him. Your sweats went next, leaving you nude to his gaze.

He was quick to remove his own shirt, pulling you back down onto the bed, your body draped across his. You panted his name, lifting your leg to straddle him, his cock pressed against your wet slit. Sam looked up at you with eyes full of adoration and guilt, his hands clutching your thighs gently.

Reaching down, you sank two fingers into your own channel, whining when you felt your wetness coating your fingers. Sam watched with hunger on his face as you lifted yourself, removing your fingers to curl them around his cock again.

The moment he filled you was exquisite. You closed your eyes, tipping your head back in rapture as you took him to the hilt, feeling that pleasant burn in your belly where you struggled to accommodate his size.

For a second, you remained still, savoring the throb deep inside where his cockhead pressed against your cervix. He was bare - you’d forgotten to even think about safe sex - but it felt so fucking good you didn’t want to stop. It was the first time in weeks you’d come close to control, to pleasure that you could own.

You almost had Sam back from the monster Michael had turned him into.

Rocking your hips provoked a moan from Sam’s lips but he didn’t move. You repeated the action, smiling as his jaw clenched, teeth ground together in bliss. Obeying the urge to kiss him, you leaned over, pressing your lips to his, overjoyed when he returned the kiss with enthusiasm, cradling your head between his huge hands as he licked into your mouth.

“Sam,” you gasped, increasing the roll of your hips, squeezing him with your pelvic muscles. Sam practically growled, his body jerking in response to the added pleasure, stoking the fire that made your legs work faster.

You wanted to feel him cum. Wanted to feel that delicious warmth searing your insides, reminding you that  _ this _ Sam was real. This was  _ your _ Sam.

Michael couldn’t take that from you.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Sam warned in a gasp, “I’m not wearing a -”

“I don’t care,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his again. “Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum inside me, Sam.”

He released a long strangled groan as you pushed up, changing the angle until he was slamming right into your sweet spot. Juices gushed from your pussy over his balls as you came, forcing his climax. Sam snarled, gripping your hips to hold you down on his cock, the primal need to completely fill you taking over.

When it was done, you collapsed, curling on his chest, trying not to cry. His hands stroked your hair back from your face as he peppered kisses against your forehead, soothing you the only way he knew how.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, holding you close as you slid from his body. Neither of you cared about the sticky residue clinging to your skin - there was time to clean up later.

You didn’t want to waste a minute of the time you had with him.

“I wanted to,” you insisted, yawning as the post-coital high started to wear off. “I love you.”

Sam smiled, warmth in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, trying not to think of the risk he’d just let you take. “Love you too.” He nuzzled his face into your hair, letting your scent soothe him as he closed his eyes.

Tomorrow felt like everything would be better.

*****

“Sam?!”

Frantic knocking on the door woke Sam from slumber and he stretched, rolling over to the other side of the bed, the events of the night before filtering back to him as Dean continued to yell his name.

He was alone in the bed.

“Sam, wake up! Y/N’s gone!”

Sam bolted upright, looking around frantically as Dean shouldered the door open, rushing into his room urgently. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” he accused, but Sam wasn’t paying attention, his eyes focused on the slip of yellow paper torn from his journal, laying on the bed. “Sam?”

“She was here…” Sam murmured, reaching out to pick up the piece of paper. The messy handwriting was undoubtedly yours, scrawled across the paper. Looking up, he saw the drawers hanging open, half of your belongings missing.

Wrapping the sheet around his waist to spare his brother the sight of him naked, Sam climbed out of bed, discarding the note, heading for the closet. He flung the door open, ignoring Dean moving toward the bed and picking up the paper.

“I’ll come home,” he read, glancing at Sam, who’d stopped dead in front of the closet, his eyes glued to the empty shelf at the top.

“She took it,” Sam whispered, stepping back, eyes brimming with tears.

“Took what?” Dean demanded. “Sam, where did Y/N go?”

Wiping at his face, Sam turned away, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But she took the box.”

“What’s in the box?”

A sad smile tugged at Sam’s lips when he realized his watch was no longer sitting on the nightstand. “Everything she ever loved and lost.” He took the note from Dean. “She wants to come back but doesn’t know if she can.”

Dean’s mouth was a shaky line as he stared at his brother. “Then we find her.”

Sam sniffed, wiping his face again. “No, we won’t.”

*****

_ One year later _

Another hunt done. Another family saved.

Things were getting boring.

Sam twisted the top off of the beer, reaching over to clink it against his brothers, taking a mouthful as they stood in silence. The Impala’s metal was cold against his lower back but he savored the feeling, closing his eyes.

He couldn’t deny it was easier. Since the gates of heaven and hell had been permanently closed and the gateway for souls was fixed, there had been nothing but werewolves, vamps and various other creatures that belonged in neither place. The fight was never over, but it was nice not to have to save the world from anything more than a witch with delusions of grandeur.

Often, after hunts like this, Sam would look up at the sky and wonder if you were somewhere doing the same thing. He remembered your first date - if you could call it that. You’d driven out to the middle of nowhere with a six-pack and a blanket. 

He’d never forget the way you looked with nothing on your skin but the moonlight.

“We should head back,” Dean muttered. “Make sure Jack hasn’t set anything on fire.”

Sam laughed at that, nodding as he drained his beer and turned to get into the passenger seat. Dean started the car, pulling away from the side of the road, humming along to Metallica as the tape started anew.

Home was only an hour or so away, but even so, by the time they drew the car into the garage, Sam was exhausted. He barely said a word as he trudged through the hallways to the library, intent on putting his books away before he forgot.

You were standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him.

Sam slowed to a stop, shock on his face. Behind him, Dean frowned, pausing a meter or so away until he saw what had halted his brother.

“Y/N…” Sam’s whisper was barely audible; you smiled and nodded.

“I’m home,” you replied, the tears falling from your lashes.

He moved, faster than you could keep track, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You sank into his hold, closing your eyes, inhaling the scent that uniquely Sam. His tears splashed onto your hair as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“Where have you been?” he murmured, pulling back, framing your face with his hands. “You didn’t -”

“I went to find help,” you explained, covering his hands with yours. “What happened… what Michael did to me, it made me sick. So I had myself committed.” Sam’s eyes went wide and he pulled back a little. A shaky smile pulled at your lips. “I was suffering from psychosis. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was not. And you couldn’t fix that.”

“You were in a loony bin?” Dean exclaimed, dropping his bag onto the table before picking up Sam’s discarded duffel, forgotten the second he’d seen you.

You snorted a laugh as Sam scowled at his brother. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his eyes scanning you for any injury. There wasn’t anything visible - in fact, you looked healthier than he’d ever seen you. “You’re different.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, tilting your head. “I, er, didn’t come back alone.” There was hurt on his face and you knew where his head had instantly gone. He thought you’d met someone else. That you loved someone else. “It’s someone you need to meet. Someone you should have met sooner.”

Taking Sam’s hand, you tugged him toward the bedroom and Dean raised his eyebrows as you passed. “Is this a kinky thing or -”

“You can come too,” you called, still smiling. Stopping at the guest bedroom door, you hesitated, meeting Sam’s worried gaze. “I’m gonna say sorry now because I fully expect you to be angry with me. But I wasn’t well enough to come home then. And I had to put that first.”

“Okay… you’re kinda freaking me out,” Sam said, his expression growing more concerned.

You pushed the door open wide, stepping inside where the lamp on the nightstand illuminated the walls in a soft glow. On the bed, a wicker moses basket took up most of the space in the middle, two chubby little fists wiggling in the air.

“Sam,” you whispered, “this is Abigail.”

He was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and jaw slack. Your stomach churned with nerves and you approached the bed, reaching down to scoop up the baby girl who cooed and mewled. Her little hands grabbed at your earrings as you turned with her in your arms, carrying her toward Sam.

“Abigail,” you looked up at Sam, “this is your Daddy.”

Abigail emitted a high-pitched squeak, stuffing her fingers in her mouth as Sam stared at her. You held her out, offering her to him and he moved stifling like a machine. The baby gurgled happily as she stared up at him, snatching at his long hair with spit-sticky fingers.

“That night before I left… I wasn’t thinking straight. I found out a couple weeks later. The second I saw her on the ultrasound…” You shrugged, looking away. “I fell in love.”

Dean poked his head around, smiling widely as he laid eyes on his niece. “Jesus, Sammy, she’s beautiful.”

Sam smiled, dangling a finger over Abigail’s face - she latched onto it, instantly gumming the digit to death, shrieking happily the whole time. “She’s vocal,” he commented, glancing up at you.

“Always happy,” you replied, trying not to cry as Sam looked down on his daughter with tears in his eyes. Dean looked almost close to crying too, cooing at the baby girl as she continued to chomp away on Sam’s giant finger. “I know I should have come home sooner. But I heard… I heard about the fight. About Cas, Garth, the others…”

Dean met your eyes, sadness in his gaze. “It’s over now. Gates are closed.” The grief you could see didn’t fade, even when happiness returned as he looked at Abigail. “If it was gonna happen, this is probably the best time.”

Sam’s smile grew as Abigail stretched and yawned, turning in his hold to snuggle against him. “She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, stroking her face as she started to drift off. Shifting, Sam went to offer her back to you, but you backed away shaking your head.

“No way, buddy. I haven’t slept properly for three months and I’ve  _ never _ got her to go to sleep that quickly.” You huffed in irritation as Sam chuckled. “She would be a daddy’s girl.”

“Get some rest,” Sam urged, using his free hand to touch your shoulder. “It’s really good to have you home,” he added, leaning in a little closer, unsure where he stood now. You caught his hand, pressing up on your tippy toes to kiss him softly on the lips. 

Dean cleared his throat, shuffling backward out of the room.

“I think we made him uncomfortable,” you mumbled, savoring the taste of Sam’s lips on yours.

Sam grinned, cupping your cheek before looking back down at Abigail where she was slowly drooling on his flannel. “Somehow, I can’t bring myself to care.”


End file.
